A Knight Who Eternally Regresses

When Enkrid and the other two entered, the entrance of the banquet hall seemed narrow, and for a moment, it felt as if the entire hall was packed tight.

Some nobles saw a halo around them, while others felt a foreboding chill.

Couldn't that man standing there kill everyone present if he so decided?

And wasn't one of them called the noble slayer?

Of course, only a few were truly anxious. Most were simply stunned, busy admiring them.

Would it be an exaggeration to say that even their steps radiated power?

No, it wouldn't. A single step from them could change many things.

Perhaps this was the true presence of heroes who had shaken the entire continent.

In truth, they were just walking normally, but knowing their reputation — and with their overwhelming appearance — it was easy to feel that way.

Enkrid, Rem, and Audin had done nothing special but simply walked in.

'They've come.'

One of the nobles clenched his fist as he watched Enkrid enter.

It might have been a moment requiring some deep resolve.

His head was completely bald, his frame was lean and muscular, his skin darkly tanned, and even his fingernails were blackened.

If he had changed clothes, he could have easily passed for a farmer rather than a noble.

And yet, by standing here dressed in a worn but proper tailcoat, he clearly proved that he was indeed a noble.

The noble tugged at his rough-textured collar.

"Mad Knight Order, huh."

He marveled anew at the name that had been attached to them.

This bald noble had been one of those who condemned Enkrid at the royal council, insisting that his excessive military power needed to be restrained with a firm oath of loyalty.

Since Enkrid had entered, the noble hadn't been able to take his eyes off him even once.

In fact, no one could.

Especially among the noble ladies and unmarried young women, some had visibly glazed eyes.

Could it be considered natural? Of course it could.

Enkrid drew all gazes to himself as he entered.

Appearance was a weapon too — and now, Enkrid's greatest weapon shone brightly.

His black hair, as if oiled, gleamed under the many lanterns illuminating the banquet hall.

Aesthetic senses may differ from person to person, but when confronted with truly outstanding beauty, all opinions tend to align.

Enkrid's face at this moment was such a case.

A high, sharp nose, brilliantly clear blue eyes, a perfectly balanced mouth — everything harmonized.

It was as if a god had descended briefly to earth and sculpted him with divine blessing.

Even the bald noble had that thought.

He was... remarkably handsome.

"Ah..."

A woman holding a wine glass two steps away from the bald noble let out a small gasp.

And so did the people across from her. Their eyes were glazed, and if left alone, they looked about ready to drool.

"Is that a statue moving?"

Some even blurted out nonsense like that.

Others just stared blankly, as if they had forgotten how to speak altogether.

At least half of the ladies inside the banquet hall were likely experiencing, for the first and perhaps only time in their lives, the phenomenon known as love at first sight.

It was as if they had been struck by some kind of charming enchantment.

"Is this magic?"

Such mutterings came naturally.

Even those who didn't fall in love instantly found it hard to tear their eyes away.

The nobles thought the same.

Even when they had seen him in the palace before, they knew he was exceptionally good-looking, but now, dressed carefully, hair slicked, face polished, dressed impeccably in a tailcoat — there was no resisting him for either man or woman.

There were a few who looked jealous, sure, but the majority of the male nobles didn't even feel a sense of competition — it was overwhelming.

Among them was a woman named Frokk, who showed not just boldness but action.

She stepped forward and even spoke to them.

"Do you know any Frokk?"

That action shattered some of the collective illusion hanging over the crowd.

As the silence broke, murmuring began to fill the hall.

"Who is that?"

"Didn't they say it's the Mad Knight Order?"

"Ah, the Demon Slayer."

Chatter sparked from all sides.

Even in the capital, the nickname 'Demon Slayer' was more widely known than 'Steel Wall Knight.'

It seemed to roll off the tongue more naturally.

If a real demon were hiding here, it would be quite the absurd scene — considering Enkrid had never actually slain a real demon.

Even if a real demon showed up and demanded clarification, Enkrid would just shrug and move on.

It wasn't as if he had ever asked to be called the Demon Slayer.

"There's a Frokk from Lua Gharne, someone who used to be in the royal palace."

The answer to Frokk's question came from a man with gray hair standing nearby.

The bald noble, hearing this, quickly recognized who it was — gray hair wasn't common.

'The Noble Slayer.'

Watching the gray-haired man casually answer Frokk, without a hint of violence, the noble realized he didn't seem like someone who would punch every noble he met.

Not that the noble had fully believed those rumors ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) anyway.

What, that he beat any noble he saw and ritually severed their heads?

Sure, many had died by his hands, but none without cause.

If he were truly a bloodthirsty maniac who slaughtered the privileged for pleasure, he wouldn't be standing there beside a hero like Enkrid.

Still, the reason he earned such a brutal nickname was clear — he was the most dangerous person here.

That danger didn't vanish even standing next to the knight whose beauty seemed blessed by the gods.

Just like how a sweet potato and a potato are both delicious but remain distinct, he maintained his own unique charm next to Enkrid.

His gray hair, half tied and half loose, was neatly brushed.

His chin was sharp, and while his features weren't as outrageously beautiful as Enkrid's, he was striking in his own right.

A rough-edged but undeniably handsome man.

"Sister, there are already many competitors. Best to restrain yourself."

Standing beside him, a man far taller than the others added calmly.

His forearms looked thicker than the waists of the corseted ladies.

He stood there like a mountain.

'Bear Beastkin.'

The rumors were just rumors — there were no Beastkin traits visible. Clearly, he was human.

Judging by his speech, he seemed deeply religious.

With shoulders so broad they barely looked human, a neck like a log, a chest about to rip his shirt open, and muscles even visible in his fingers — there was a raw, heavy presence in every small movement he made.

There were plenty at the banquet who preferred destructive bulk to mere handsomeness, and they began to watch him too, right after Enkrid.

"I want to be hugged just once."

"I feel like I could hang off his arm."

"Why are his thighs like that?"

Though the women whispered carefully, he could still hear everything clearly, standing right next to them.

Despite his careful demeanor, that oppressive presence remained unhidden.

The three of them — each with a distinct personality — entered the banquet hall, which had passed through three stages: uproar, silence, and now murmuring again.

They took a spot inside and stood calmly.

The bald noble, who had been watching Enkrid the entire time, fell into his own memories for a moment.

He had considered the possibility that today might be his last day ever since he first stood in opposition to the author.

Maybe that's why memories surfaced on their own.

"The most important thing in this world is land."

It was his father's teaching. He agreed with it deeply and tended his territory in the same way.

'Why land first? Because without land, how would the people of the territory eat and live? Knights — do they live without eating, without shitting? Are they not human too?'

From this point of view, he only wished for the kingdom to act as a fence to protect himself and his land.

That was all. No other grand intention. He knew Enkrid was the hero who ended the civil war.

'If I said I had no ill will, would he believe me?'

He hadn't seen the knight before, but he understood people.

No one could truly like being ostracized and scorned.

It was fortunate enough if hatred didn't take root.

Aside from being ignored and pushed away — weren't there people with broader hearts? There were.

He had seen such a person only once in his life.

The king he now served was one. That was why he had sworn loyalty.

The noble slipped his hand into his pocket. His fingers grasped a hard object, and he quickly hid it inside his sleeve as he approached.

It wouldn't do any good if someone spotted him first.

"This is cheating. If you're good at fighting, you shouldn't be allowed to look like that. At minimum, you should be rugged. Narrow eyes, a pug nose would be better."

Marcus, one of the king's closest aides, grumbled aloud nearby. Some glanced over, but soon enough, the atmosphere of the banquet returned to normal.

People went back to talking and drinking.

Of course, plenty of people still crowded around the so-called Mad Knight Order, pouring their attention onto them.

The bald noble crossed through the crowd and stared intently at Enkrid.

His hand remained tucked inside his sleeve.

Sensing the gaze, Enkrid turned to look.

He surely hadn't forgotten the face of someone who had openly condemned him at the royal council.

"I have something to give you."

The noble spoke and approached.

Marcus and others nearby sharply turned their eyes toward him.

"Viscount Harrison,"

Andrew Gardner, one of the king's inner circle, identified him. His gaze was sharp, as if demanding what he was doing here.

Viscount Harrison ignored Andrew's stare and took another step closer to Enkrid.

Then, moving swiftly, he pulled out his hand from his sleeve and thrust something into Enkrid's chest.

For a normal person, it was impressively fast.

***

"Don't hate him too much."

"Who?"

This was something Crang had said just after the oaths were completed. Enkrid had widened his eyes and asked back.

"That noble earlier. He didn't act with ill intent."

"Who are you talking about?"

Enkrid hadn't harbored even a bit of malice.

Nobles? He just thought, "So that's how they are."

He understood their position somewhat too.

Moreover, even if he was called the Demon Slayer, wasn't it natural for people not to believe without seeing for themselves?

If you believed every rumor, there were even stories about priests arm-wrestling giants. Exaggeration was the nature of such tales.

Though, in Enkrid's case, there were plenty who had witnessed things firsthand, so suspicion wasn't really necessary.

It wasn't easy to oppose him unless you were incredibly bold.

To oppose Enkrid now meant standing against both the hero and the king himself.

Even so, they had insisted on the danger of the knight and clashed with him.

Was it just because they didn't like him?

It didn't seem so simple. Some were fools, sure, but among them were nobles who harbored ideals.

When it came to chasing dreams, purpose, and light, Enkrid might have been unrivaled across the continent.

Thus, he could recognize at a glance that some of those nobles, even if it cost them their lives or favor with the king, had chosen to speak up out of conviction.

When Enkrid kept jokingly asking "Who?" Crang laughed and said,

"You're lucky you survived this long. With that attitude, you should've died dozens of times over."

Enkrid nodded.

He hadn't died from his attitude yet, but he had died thousands of times otherwise.

"Why are you nodding? Anyway, one of those nobles probably wants to work closely with the Border Guard. He's hoping the Safe Road passes through his lands."

Kraiss had constructed two Safe Roads.

One led toward the capital, Naurillia, the other passed through Martai.

If the Safe Road passed south through Martai?

All the lords in the surrounding region would benefit.

Especially one territory — not just because of trade, but because its lord had long wanted to cultivate the land outside the city.

His name was Harrison.

He had made a life goal of cultivating land.

When he saw Kraiss' plan of building outposts and deploying troops to secure safe regions, he fell in love at first sight.

Enkrid had sensed Harrison's approach even earlier.

Seeing him now, he noticed nothing special.

An old, tough man with worn clothing and a hardened expression.

Yet, despite his shabby clothes, they were clean and neat. His bearing didn't stray from propriety.

Living modestly had become second nature to him.

Enkrid didn't know exactly where Kraiss' Safe Road would extend or what Harrison was hoping for.

Their eyes simply met.

Harrison's gaze reminded Enkrid of a solid stone.

If you can't use Will, does that mean your willpower is meaningless?

If someone tells you you're lacking talent and doomed from the start, should you give up?

Should you stop everything because someone else decided you can't succeed?

Should you give up just because it seems impossible?

Even if that judgment wasn't your own, but someone else's?

Should you still surrender?

When Harrison pushed something into Enkrid's chest, it wasn't a weapon.

It wasn't an assassination attempt.

With his keen eyesight, Enkrid clearly saw it was a glass bottle — sealed with a cork and tightly wrapped with string.

So he let it happen.

Viscount Harrison said,

"I was rude earlier. Take this as an apology."

Enkrid didn't ask what it was.

Instead, he asked a different question.

"Is there something you want?"

Harrison looked a good twenty years older, perhaps because of his bald head.

He blinked several times, then replied,

"Bribe — no, yes, it's a bribe.

Could you direct the Safe Road toward our territory?"

Harrison said it without a hint of shame.

A stubbornness born of a long, hard life was visible.

Normally, Enkrid might have asked "why."

Or demanded some terms.

But this time, he didn't even ask what the gift was.

"Let's do that."

He simply nodded.

It was an answer far beyond Harrison's expectations.

"...You won't even ask why?"

Harrison asked, flustered.

"I'll listen if you want to tell me."

This was a decision made purely by judging a person's character.

Based on his eyes, his bearing, his dress — everything.

If it was a wrong choice?

Life was a series of choices, and no choice was always right.

Enkrid knew that better than anyone.

That was why he wasn't afraid to choose.

Fear of choosing only led to stagnation.

If that were the case, he would have long since ended up trapped in the "happy today" the Ferryman spoke of.

And in this man standing before him, Enkrid saw a glimpse of someone similar to himself.

Though startled, Harrison answered calmly — it was something he often said.

"I'll cultivate the land."